


your shadow falls over me, like such

by torchbright



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Gen, it's kinda awkward, the inquisitor meets the warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torchbright/pseuds/torchbright
Summary: Ficlet collection. The newly ordained Inquisitor finds the fabled Hero of Ferelden offering her services for the cause. It's awkward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble I wrote about a year ago. It's mostly a stand-alone piece, but I might turn it into a drabble collection for when I think about 'what if the warden was part of the inquisition.' I'm sure everyone has those moments.

**introductions**

Their party arrived with no fanfare. Just another caravan of pilgrimers seeking the promise and protection of the Inquisition at Skyhold. Cullen’s Inquisition soldier’s thought nothing of them at the various checkpoints up the mountain pass. A pair of weary halla dragging a near dilapitated caravan guarded by a small party consisting of two dwarves, a surly Dalish, and a sickly human might have raised an eyebrow or two during normal circumstances, but with the influx of refugees and pilgrims journeying to Skyhold after the destruction of Haven, such a party blended in with the others journeying to the base of the newly established headquarters of the Inquisition.

Leliana’s spies did have reason for suspicion, but it was one of the spymaster’s own that lead that very party to the gates of Skyhold. He had been a farmer’s son in Redcliffe and saw the Fifth Blight first hand; often claimed to have conversed with the Hero of Ferelden herself when he first came under the Inquisition’s wing. Said that she saved him and took his family’s heirloom blade in return. Course nobody really believed him, but when he showed up at Skyhold’s gates, face a mixture of fear and awe, accompanying that worn-out caravan, quite a few people began to doubt their doubt of his story.

The Inquisitor’s inner circle was immediately informed and gathered in response to the arrival of that agent and that party. All the other visitors and inhabitants of Skyhold saw was a raggedy caravan quickly ushered into the hushed discussions of the Inquisition.

After being titled the Inquisitor, Lavellan should’ve expected that everything that came after would be well beyond the bounds of where she expected her life would go. But this _almost_ topped the whole _‘you are the chosen one and will save all of Thedas from destruction’_ and _‘the shems might’ve been right and you’re here to be their figurehead during their latest mishap.’  
_

When Josephine’s assistant quickly ushered her into a hastily-arranged meeting right after breakfast, the last thing she expected was to come face to face with the Hero of Ferelden herself. 

Still shaking off the dregs of sleep, Lavellan was led by Josephine’s assistant to the war room where she saw her advisors gathered with various ranges of uncertainty: Josephine fidgeted with her papers, eyes often swinging towards Leliana; Cullen had a ghastly pale complexion and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword with a near-desperate fervor; Cassandra stood arms crossed across her chest with the stony, determined expression she usually carried during their meetings, but even she often glanced at Leliana with a hint of uncertainty; Leliana herself - well, Lavellan often found her spymaster hard to read - but today, Leliana was especially hard to read. Was that anger, or was that grief, she saw on her spymaster's face? 

Lavellan entered the war room, stepping up to Cassandra and taking in the awkward atmosphere of the room at a glance. Before she could say anything though, the doors swung open once more and the Hero of Ferelden herself strolled in.

She was older than Lavellan - most people in the room were. Her hair was streaked with gray and silver, one of the consequences of leadership Lavellan feared would find her soon enough.

The Hero of Fereldan eyed each of her advisors in turn; Lavellan noted her gaze stayed on Leliana a fraction longer than the others which, given their history, wasn’t too surprising. Then she smirked. leaned against the war table and said, “I hear you’ve interest in the Wardens. What can I do for you, Inquisitor?”


	2. sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan bears witness to the funeral of a Warden lost at Adamant Fortress.

**sacrifice**

They had a pyre going down near the hold’s training grounds. A small gathering of them around the burning flames. Purely symbolic; there was no body after all.

Even as she stood next to the Warden, Lavellan couldn’t find it in her to look the older woman in the eye. 

It was her fault.

If… if she’d just been stronger, been faster, she could’ve gotten them all out. Got them all home. 

Lavellan forced her eyes to stay on the dancing orange and red flames, even as they stung, even as the shame bore her down and all she wanted was Keeper Deshanna’s softly murmured reassurances. 

A sudden loud and hideous belching jerked her out of her thoughts. 

“To the  _ best _ bastard I’ve known,” Warden Oghren announced and emptied his stinking flask before the pyre. He laughed, more to fill the silence then anything, teetering back and forth. Lavellan heard from Cabot that the tavern was the first place the surly dwarf headed after her party solemnly reported the events at Adamant Fortress. And there he stayed right up until now. 

Warden Sigrun grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged him back before he could trip into the flames. He quieted when she clapped him on the shoulders. 

The female dwarf approached, cleared her throat. “You were better with getting the details right, but,” She reached into the pouch at her belt. Cradled gently in her hands was a humble carving of what could generously be called a dragon. The horns seemed to make it a Ferelden frostback. Stepping forward, she dropped it into the pyre and retreated with a bowed head.

For a moment the mountain wind picked up and the pyre seemed to exhale flames, billowing up and high. 

Warden Velanna held her hand before her and using her mastery of the elements, corralled the flames into a meeker state. An uncertain moment passed where she glanced over her shoulder at Warden Amell, stony faced and silent, before the Dalish mage sighed and held her hands together, the whispers of a Dalish prayer of farewell drifting towards Lavellan’s ears. 

Lavellan bit the inside of her cheek. She’d heard those prayers too often in recent times; said them herself, all by herself. The grief of homesickness, always present and always yearning, pushed her down even further. Still, she kept her head up. It was her duty to bear witness. 

The least she could do as witness to Warden Alistair’s sacrifice. 

Heavy footsteps, loud yet uncertain. And then Cullen stepped forward. Lavellan had no idea he was present; wasn’t aware that he knew Warden Alistair at all. At least, he never gave the impression he did. Leliana did mention, with a sour expression, that Commander Cullen had been present when Warden Amell and her group reclaimed Kinloch Hold from the blood mages and their demons. 

Cullen recited from the Chant of Light. It was long-winded, but gentle. Some of the words familiar; Lavellan was sure she’d heard them from Sister Giselle before. The march from Haven incurred many, many losses. Those verses must’ve been recited continuously then. 

Others came forward, each with a solemn saying or story. The pyre received them all, each and every offering swallowed by the flames. 

Eventually the Inquisition spymaster stepped forward from the shadows. It was strange seeing her out here; Leliana too often secluded herself in her rookery, surrounded by secrets and her never-ending work. The pyre cast shadows on her face, lines carved of loss and the years that have passed. 

Lavellan’s heart clenched. Leliana has dedicated so much to the Inquisition, offered Lavellan her aid, and Lavellan herself only has a bare inkling of the loss Leliana had experienced over the years. And now she’s lost another friend. 

Head bowed in prayer, Leliana silently prayed her respects. 

Then slowly, much like the mountain winds that pick up without rush, a soft and gentle voice carried a soft and gentle song through the air. Mournful, it ebbed and flowed with the course of a life given to duty and loss. 

Was it in Orlesian? The words were foreign yet musical by itself. Lavellan felt the sting in her eyes even after she forcefully blinked it away. 

Loss was a universal language. 

From beside Lavellan, Warden Amell shifted slightly when Leliana’s song drew to a close. Before Lavellan could work up the courage to study the older woman, she approached the pyre, stopping just next to Leliana, shoulders nearly brushing. 

The flickering flames, constantly dancing one way then the other, made it difficult to make out the mage’s face. Was her face just as stony and closed-off as it was, when Warden Alistair had faced away from their retreating party, sword and shield clasped in tremoring hands? 

Lavellan watched, curious of the mage would offer as she reached into her robes and tugged at a cord. She pulled out a small, battered amulet: chipped, singed, and smudged. The details on the face was smudged away from constantly rubbing and turning. 

“In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death…” Warden Amell paused. 

Leliana made to turn to her before she took a bracing breath, seemingly for the both of them. 

Lavellan felt every second of that brief silence pass by her. Those were the moments she lost while trapped in the Fade. Moments she had wasted. Moments she could’ve done better.

“Sacrifice.”

Because that was what it was, what it had taken. 

Lavellan bowed her head, repeating those words under her breath. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip alistair


End file.
